Friday, October 14, 2016

The Myth of Independence

An orange dawn over Seattle
As the orange dawn crept up my window sill, I heard them. I rolled over sinking deeper into my pillow in a vain attempt to ignore nature's alarm clock.  I heard them again, this time closer to my window. I looked out and up, and the geese were passing in their magnificent V formation, crying out a chorus of honks and squawks. They are communicating the need to fly.  Winter is on its way. Perhaps they are discussing who shall lead the formation, honking out some kind of bird talk that tells them all how to line up and where they are going.

The V formation gives them lift. The flight pattern generates drafts from one bird to another making it easier for them to fly far without tiring. The geese take turns in front since the leader endures the most head wind. When the leader is tired, she drops back into the V and lets another goose move forward. Their natural instinct drives them to work together to get where they need to go before winter's grip grounds them.

From my sketch book....
Like the wings of the  geese, actions taken create the drafts that effect those around us. Whether we like it or not, we are all somehow intertwined.  We influence each other's experiences with or without intention. Like dominoes lined up in a maze, one toppled tile affects many. True independence is a myth, a story, a fairy tale, made up by those who really believe that they do not need anyone and who don't understand the impact of being disconnected. 

Sometimes I shuffle through life as if I have no impact on anyone else. I am tired, so I forget.  I am selfish, so I pretend I don't care.  I am anxious or overwhelmed, so I can't cope today.  Eventually I come back around and remember that I am not a lone goose. Woe to the lone goose who expends a great deal of effort and doesn't get very far.

I am thankful today for the people in my formation who provide the lift that allows me to fly even when I get weary. I am thankful for opportunities to take the lead and let someone else rest, and just as grateful when I can drop back into the V and enjoy the journey.  

Peace! lw

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Paddle to the Sea

When I was in grade school, I saw a film called Paddle to the Sea. Unlike the standard boring educational film, Paddle to the Sea was screened for  our class as a "treat." The lights were dimmed, and the chugga-chugga of the 35 mm reel to reel projector transported me to Lake Nipigon, Canada, where a young boy carves a wooden model of a Native Canadian in a canoe. On the bottom of the canoe he roughly etches the words "Please put me back in the water. I am Paddle-to-the-Sea". He then parks the figure in the snow and the spring melt water carries it away. The film highlights Paddle's treacherous journey through the Great Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean.

Amarillo - No water here! 

As a youngster from Amarillo, the only body of water I had seen was the city pool. I had very little exposure to large bodies of water. While I loved the Paddle story, I had no desire to face the kind of danger required to paddle to the sea. Regardless, the film made an impression and every time I go out on the water I recall Paddle's journey. (And I also take a life jacket!)

An injury took me off my bike this summer. For a new way to enjoy the outdoors, I took up kayaking. In a borrowed, fishing kayak, the dogs and I have ventured onto Oregon's rivers with a healthy respect for water's power instilled in me                                by Paddle to the Sea. 


Tualitin River

On the Willamette between Corvalis and Salem, I inhaled the aroma of the mint fields while a daytime moon poked her forehead from beneath a cloudless, blue tarp. The wind made the downstream paddle take longer than we expected giving us more time to observe the many blue herons fishing along the banks. We stopped along a little sandy beach to let the dogs run a bit. They ran through the grasses sniffing and peeing on everything. After a snack, we were back in the boat and paddling the tiny whitecaps created by the wind. 


The Tualitin is shallow and lazy, full of sticks and greenery. It's a gentle water road through the city filled with swimmers and bird life. There were no beaches to land on (at least the part where we were), just a boat ramp and slow water. The Tualitin offers the chance to slow down and relax. 

Columbia River
A trip around Price Island in the Columbia went from the choppy, dark water of a wide river to the flat water of the Echloman Slough where the  shores became peaceful and green. The cloudy sky turned blue as the sun rose.  In the river, the giant ships contribute to the waves and while I was not worried about falling out of the boat, I didn't enjoy the stress of this stretch. Even the dogs were nervous about the changing wakes and tides as they gravitated toward the center of the kayak and hunkered down for the roller coaster ride.  Once we entered the slough they were back on the bow sunning themselves and watching for water critters. Overhead, the adolescent raptors squawked as our guide pointed out the old growth trees, the bird life, and the large eagle nests.


On the Siletz 
The Siletz was too shallow for the kayaks, so we made due with inflatables. Staying on them was a challenge and Sonic and I fell into the mini rapid.  The water wasn't too deep for me, but Sonic could not find the ground. He  quickly abandoned me for the shore. So much for canine loyalty! He was rescued against his will by our friend who managed to stay on her raft. The water was warm, clear, and pleasantly calm in the swimming holes while the shores were lined with slick rocks. The next day we traveled to Ollala Lake for paddling since the Siletz didn't provide a haven for paddling. 


Estacada Lake
Lake Estacada provided a paddler's peace of heaven between two dams on the Clackamas River. The water was just the right temperature to take the edge off that 100 degree day. The water mirrored black in the distance and green just under the boat. The Osprey soared on thermal drafts, and the dogs barked at the ducks. They wanted to chase without actually getting wet. One can easily spend an afternoon here dodging the fishing rafts, slicing through flat water from dam to dam. If you go later in the day the tall trees along the banks provide plenty of shade. 


Each time I put in the kayak, I can't help but recall that little wooden canoe. While I won’t be paddling to the ocean, Paddle’s memory links me to a simpler time before the burdens of the world became apparent. I forget my troubles for a while and enjoy each river's wildlife, scenery, and natural pace. I am lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I am thankful today for nature’s gifts of sunrises, sunsets, rivers, mint fields, and those delightful daytime moons.


Echloman Slough